Two Whispers
by BadKatPat
Summary: Harry is having doubts about his and Draco's relationship. Their two points of view. Rated cautiously for implied slash.
1. Harry

His hand ghosts across my hip to my stomach, fingers whispering promises to my skin. His breath puffs across the nape of my neck, tickling my skin. This is how it starts most days. I'm at the edge of sleep where doubts are real, and reality is just a dream.

But today is different. He's tucked into my arm, his head close to my shoulder and his hand curled loosely on my chest. The room is grey, just between night's darkness and morning's burst of sunlight. I gaze at him, his hair glistening in the faint light. His haughty lips curved into the slight smile of sleep; his blond eyelashes resting upon the pale tint of his cheeks. He shifts slightly and I appreciate the smooth, toned chest and his hard stomach. I smile as I remember his soft groans and grunts whispering across my skin as I thrust into him. Harder, deeper, searching for the one thing buried deep inside him. And yet, his hiss of pleasure as we come together turns into a whisper of desire across my ear.

I want to touch him, stroke him, caress him, but I daren't wake this blond Apollo lying in my arms. To do so would only destroy this momentary reality. He turns his head and his breath whispers across my neck, stirring my desire for him. I can't hold back anymore. I gently brush a lock of impossibly blond hair from his face, my fingers ghosting across his cheek until the one untidy lock is tucked behind his ear. I see his eyes fluttering, and I know he's waking.

I can't help but wonder why he's with me. I'm not as handsome as the men who flirt with him at his shop. The ones who would bow to his every whim, just to have him in their bed. I'm not like the women who would make him their lover and would ignore his flaws just to say that he was theirs. I'm only famous because of a cruel stroke of fate. Something that I never wanted, forced upon me by the gods in their mindless flights of fancy.

But, he's here in my bed, asleep. And yet, I can't help but wonder when it will end, this dream that I've been living. When will he toss me aside like an empty wrapper devoid of its sweet? Will it be today, tomorrow, or a month from now, that my life will fall apart? And yet, I wait, wanting to be with him, to love him, to make him cry from the pleasure that I can give. But he only whispers.

I look at his face. His eyes blink, throwing off the blanket of sleep. I gaze into his dark grey eyes, waiting, only waiting. He frowns at what he sees. It's as if he can almost read my mind. And, I wait, wondering, if today is the day.

He shifts closer, his hands whispering across my chest, my face, to the nape of my neck, pulling me down into a needy, hungry kiss. His tongue touches mine in a familiar dance. I touch him, and my hand traces the contours of his chest, his ribs, his abdomen. I reach to pull him closer, but he stops me. He pulls my hand to his chest, placing it over his heart. I can feel its steady beat, thudding strongly beneath my hand. He breaks the kiss, pulling away to gaze into my fearful eyes. And he whispers, "It beats for you."


	2. Draco

My hand ghosts across his hip to his stomach, warm and inviting. His skin whispers to be touched. This is how it starts most days. I'm wrapped around the man whose bed I share. But today is different. I lay here warm in his embrace. My fingers whisper through the soft hair on his chest and I savor the quiet of the early morning. I can just see him through my lashes and he's watching me. Always watching me. The warmth of his body curls around me and a soft contented sigh escapes my lips.

I shift and snuggle closer and smell the soft musky scent of last night on him. A small smile quirks my lips as I think of making love with him. It's not just sex between us, it's something more. He whispers my name when we come, his warmth and desire filling the dark chasm deep in my soul. I've never had love before, really. A love without strings attached. For my mother, I was just an object to display before her friends with my perfect little manners and perfect little Malfoy demeanor. For my Father, I was nothing but a puppet-on-a-string, doing whatever he wished to earn his faint approval. But, **he** asks for nothing in return.

I feel him tense, and then, ever so softly, his fingers whisper across my cheek, brushing my hair from my face. I open my eyes needing to see him, the one who touches me so tenderly.

His eyes glow emerald green in the faint light between dusk and dawn, where dreams come true and reality emerges with the coming light. I frown at the earnest and worried expression clouding his eyes. And in this soft and sleepy time, I need to comfort him.

My hands devour his chest, his face, his neck, until I can bring his lips to mine. His tongue whispers across my lips and I draw him in. I feel the need, the desire, the urgency with each stroke of his tongue. I feel his hand caress my nipple and travel down my chest to rest on my stomach, trembling, as his mouth ravishes mine.

I feel him start to embrace me, but I grasp his hand and place it over my heart. I need to tell him the one thing that means the most to me in this dream-like reality. I break the kiss and I tell him that it is his and his alone. And he whispers, "I know."


End file.
